


As Long As You Love Me So.

by RT Fice (RT_Fice)



Category: Dumbo (2019), Dumbo Live Action
Genre: Banter, Crossover, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Lust, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RT_Fice/pseuds/RT%20Fice
Summary: On Thanksgiving, 2021, 18-year-old Milly Farrier desperately wishes to spend the holiday not thinking about V.A. Vandevere.  Coming for dinner at her friend Liz Toomes' home, she's sure there'll be no mention of him.  Little does she know Toomes has a connection to the man she longs for, or that an unexpected visitor come in from the blizzard will be as stunned -- and passionately inflamed -- to see her as she is to see him.  But the house is full of people, including Milly's suspicious dad, Holt, and a toddler full of curiosity and mischief.  How can they possibly find a moment alone?A sequel to my fic "All I Want For Christmas is You": https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852931
Relationships: Doris Allan & Adrian Toomes, Doris Allan/Adrian Toomes, Holt Farrier/Colette Marchant, Milly Farrier & V. A. Vandevere, Milly Farrier/V. A. Vandevere
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	As Long As You Love Me So.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arianatheangelworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianatheangelworld/gifts).



The house was enormous. Its windows were two-stories high, revealing impressive hanging lights. Its exterior walls were elegant stonework.

Milly Farrier gaped as she slowly approached up the long walkway to the front door. She realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it quickly, and tightened her grip on the still warm casserole dish covered with tin foil. The last thing she needed was to spill sage stuffing all over Liz Toomes' front porch.

She stopped, taking it all in as the huge, fluffy snowflakes landed on her hair. She'd spent a lot of time combing it out and pinning it up – Colette's suggestion – and it getting damp would make its curls tighter and wilder. But she wasn't ready to ring the doorbell. She and Liz had never talked about how much their dads earned. Well, Liz sort of knew about Milly's family; she'd brought her little sister Ariana to meet Dumbo. Holt had supervised, because the toddler was a sweet but energetic handful, so Liz knew he'd been hired by Dreamland as a trick shot and rider, part of VAV Enterprises' acquisition of The Medici Brothers Family Circus. But Liz had only said _her_ Dad worked “in salvage,” and hadn't elaborated. Milly had no idea what salvage companies did.

 _Who knew salvage paid so much?_ Milly thought, gazing enviously at the house. Sure, she lived in a gorgeous apartment in Dreamland, and had her own bedroom for the first time in her life. But to live in a _house_ , and _such_ a house, and to never mention it!

“ _Whoa_ ,” Holt said, behind her.

Milly turned to see her father, Joe, and Colette coming up the walk.

Holt whistled, gazing up as snowflakes landed on his thick, inky eyebrows. “I should have gone into salvage.”

“Liz never said she lived in a mansion,” said Joe, in awe.

“That is because Liz has class,” said Colette. She grinned as she flicked snowflakes off Holt's eyelashes. “Only the _gauche_ speak of wealth.”

“Mr. Vandevere does all the time,” Joe noted, having no idea what gauche meant.

“Well, there ya go.” Holt's snide tone evoked a glance from Colette. He added, “He has taste in _some_ things.”

There, dammit, His name had been spoken. Milly had hoped she could go one evening, just one, without thinking of _Him_.

Texting a few days ago, Liz had talked about boys in her high school, and one in particular she knew liked her and who she thought was cute. Her pause in texting indicated she was waiting for Milly to share _her_ crushes. Which, as much as she wanted to, Milly dared not do.

 _No one special_ , she lied.

 _Girl u need 2 get out there!!!_ Liz shot back.

 _Gotta go_ , Milly lied again.

Liz's Mom, Doris, had invited the Farriers and Colette for Thanksgiving dinner. Holt was happy to accept, and insisted on contributing to the meal. This was unwise, since he couldn't cook anything but pork and beans. Colette knew a chef who didn't consider it below his dignity to provide some American Thanksgiving essentials.

Milly had assumed there'd be no mention of _Him_ tonight, since the Toomes didn't work for him or know him. She shoved Joe's comment out of her mind. Or, tried to.

A movement caught Milly's attention. Bright blue eyes blinked at them through the window. Ariana, in a cute Thanksgiving turkey sweater, stood on a chair, her chubby little hands pressed against the glass, her mouth wide with what looked like laughter and babbling. She eagerly banged on the window as Milly waved to her. She jumped off the chair, which toppled over after her, and disappeared.

Dad and Colette chuckled as they all gathered at the door. Milly pressed the doorbell. _I'll finally meet Liz's Dad_ , she thought. Liz adored her father. So did Doris. For that matter, so did Holt and Colette, who'd met him when he came to pick up Ariana and Liz while Milly was in the bathroom. He had to be a great guy.

The door opened.

Milly froze.

 _Him_.

“Hey,” He said, with a big grin.

Milly's brain seized up.

“Well, c'mon in! You're covered in snow.” He held the door wide open.

Her body was paralyzed.

“Milly, say hello and go in,” Holt laughed.

Some sound emitted from her, but it was less coherent than the gurgles and babbles of Ariana, who stood next to Him, a fist clenching the khaki pants he wore.

 _Flannel plaid shirt? Khaki?_ Seeing V.A. dressed in such casual, uncharacteristic clothes was almost as much of a shock as His being there at all.

“ M'Lee!” It was the toddler's name for her. She grasped the hem of Milly's coat. She held out her arms. “ M'Lee, up, up!”

“She's got her hands full, Tootsie Roll.” With impressive strength, in one smooth move He hoisted the little girl onto His shoulders. The child giggled and bounced, holding on to His short hair. He shook hands with Holt. “Glad to have you, Farrier. Wonderful you came, Ms. Marchant.” He tossled Joe's hair. “Let's get inside!”

Holt and Joe went ahead, conversing with Him. Milly's feet were immovable ice.

"Milly, what is this matter?” Colette laughed and pressed the young woman's back. “You are shy, but not so much! You look enchanting. _Tu ressembles a une princesse_ , a princess. Is this your concern? Come along, to wait longer will be rude.”

As the door closed behind her, Milly became an automaton. She mouthed some sort of greeting and thanks to Mrs. Toomes as the woman handed the casserole to Liz and took her coat. She made a type of noise to Liz, scraping together enough sense of propriety to compliment the other girl's Thanksgiving sweater and new jeans.

Everyone stood around the big kitchen island, chatting happily. Milly could not stop staring. When she saw V.A. and Doris share a brief, loving peck, a seismic shock ran through the young woman strong enough to shake her mind into action.

_He's **Liz's Dad**? He's **married**? He does salvage too??_

“You okay?” He was looking at her. “You look pale.”

 _A married man? With two lives? Is this why Liz gets into Dreamland for free? Why she was allowed to bring Ariana to meet Dumbo?_ Milly's eyes narrowed at him, _Him_ , the man she fantasized hotly and hornily about him fucking her raw, and he was _Liz's Dad_ , and _he was married??_

“I'm fine,” Milly said, sharply and coarsely.

“Okaaaay,” He said, scrunching His signature V-shaped brow.

Milly opened her mouth to whisper, _You're even more vile than what people say about you,_ when the doorbell interrupted.

“Scuse me, um . . ,” He hesitated, then pointed a finger at her, trying to be funny, “what's your name again?”

Milly was so embarrassed and furious she simultaneously wanted to slug him and melt like the snow on her heels. “ _Milly_ ,” she rasped.

“Milly, right, right.” He chuckled good-naturedly. He was playing the role of Loving, Devoted Father And Husband And All Around Nice Guy so well Milly wished she had an Oscar statuette to hand Him. The doorbell rang three times in a row. “There's appetizers, if you want. Dinner's gonna be a while.”

She followed Him into the entryway to confront Him just as He opened the front door.

“I should have sent Sotheby to bring this, damn it. It's snowing like mad,” said a voice as deep and smooth as firelight shining through oak-seasoned brandy.

Milly jerked, once again solidified in place.

“But then you would've missed being an asshole on a family holiday,” said the doppelganger, “and you never miss an opportunity for that.”

The man at the door in an expensive black wool coat with a long white scarf draped around his neck opened his mouth with a sneer. Before he could speak, his eyes saw past the man in teal-plaid flannel shirt and khakis. To _her_.

His eyes widened and stopped blinking.

V.A. Vandevere never spent Thanksgiving with his blood relations. Typically he was invited to some huge party for the Rich and Famous held somewhere where Rich and Famous people congregate away from the prying eyes of lesser beings. If he was horny he'd go long enough to see if there was any woman worth bothering with, but more often than not all the women were indiscreet and eager to sell any encounter to TMZ. The Mastermind of Family Friendly Dreamland screwing around wasn't a good look.

For weeks his horniness had only _one_ obsession, but satisfying it was impossible. Her father hated him, and, more important, so did she.

His plans that Thanksgiving were to drop off wine as a token gesture of familiar tolerance toward his twin brother, as well as a magazine with his face on the cover, to rub his fame in his brother's nose. Then he'd go home to the Power Tower, sit in front of the fireplace, and masturbate to the innumerable secret photos and videos he had of Milly. They were harmless enough, taken in and around Dreamland, and a few of her around town that Skellig had taken under his orders. It wasn't so much Vandevere's scruples that prevented him from installing hidden cameras in her bedroom and bathroom, but the knowledge of how even much more she'd loathe him if she ever found out.

He had not been prepared to see her living and breathing before him, in a red velvet, V-neck dress and smart red heels, her magnificent hair piled on her head with tendrils framing the face he longed to grab and smother with kisses.

“Oh.” The man in plaid flannel closed the door. “You've met, haven't you? Holt Farrier's daughter, Milly. She does something with that elephant you claim can fly.” He tugged at the bottle. “Holy crap, brother, you've got a helluva death grip.” He yanked the bottle free, then took the magazine. “Oh look, you're on the cover of _Prestige_. Well, Liz wants a kitten for Christmas. This'll be great litterbox liner.” He made an impatient noise. “Come say hello, asshole.” He walked by Milly, giving her a wink. “Don't ever let anybody tell you being a twin means being the same.”

He was past her when Milly gasped air as if surfacing from almost drowning.

“He's Adrian.” Vandevere's mouth barley moved, his eyes fixed on Milly's. “My twin. Legally changed his surname when he was twenty.”

“Oh,” exhaled Milly.

“Liz never said?”

Milly shook her head.

“You didn't hear the gossip at school? About her uncle being 'The World Famous Billionaire Impresario Vandevere?' People asking her for tickets to Dreamland and my movies?”

“I don't go to her school,” Milly blurted. Her throat was tight. “To any school. I was home-schooled. I'm eighteen, I'm a year older than Liz. Remember?”

“Right.”

He was no taller than her father, yet he seemed to tower. His blue eyes shone in the soft lighting of the entryway. Snow was melting on his shining black shoes, peeking out from the cuffs of burgundy pants. Milly had never thought she'd ever see him outside of Dreamland, outside of his Empire of Entertainment. Here, he was just a man in another man's home. Somehow, it made him more human. More . . vulnerable.

“Unk!” Ariana waddled past Milly and straight for Vandevere. Her hands grabbed the end of his scarf and pulled. Wrapping it around herself she squealed with glee. “Unk V.A.!”

“Ariana! Don't stick it in your mouth, it's silk! Aw, christ!”

Mischievously Ariana glanced over her shoulder as she trotted into the kitchen, flapping the scarf like white angel wings and announcing, “Unk V.A.!”

“Every damn time,” V.A. grumped. “I should cover myself in Saran Wrap whenever that kid's around.”

“She's only a baby.” Somehow, his sourness returned Milly's senses.

“You say that about Dumbo.”

“Well, it's true about both of them.”

“Both could learn some manners.”

“Ariana's _three_ , Dumbo's the equivalent age.” Milly snorted. “What's _your_ excuse?” She turned on her heel and briskly walked into the kitchen.

V.A. snapped after her, “If a baby can be trained to fly, they can be trained to not manhandle other people's belongings!” When he came in the kitchen he and Holt immediately matched glares. _Oh fuck, this is just wonderful._

"Mr. Vandevere," said Holt, curtly.

“Hey, V.A.,” said Doris.

“Hi, Uncle V.A.,” said Liz.

“Oh, look who _le chat_ dragged in.” Colette's eyes flashed with as much mischief as the baby. She glanced at Adrian, then Milly, and her eyebrows shot up. She placed her fingers to her mouth. “ _Oui,_ I understand now. _Jue suis un idiot._ ”

“What?” asked Holt.

“It is no matter.” Her expression to Milly was apologetic. “A thing I was to earlier mention, but forgot.”

“Unk!” Ariana, the drool-sodden scarf around her neck, held her arms up to Vandevere, her tiny hands repeatedly opening and closing. “Up, up!”

V.A. was about to step back and leave Liz or Doris to remind the creature that “Unk” didn't do “up.” But he saw Milly's eyes fixed on him with merciless judgment. Gritting his jaw, he squatted, allowed the toddler to clamp her arms around his neck, and lifted her.

“Lordy god,” breathed Doris. “Have I lived to see the day?”

Ariana burbled and laughed, grabbing V.A.'s nose, then his lower lip, and tugging experimentally.

V.A. ignored the astonished stares of everyone except Milly. As the child yanked his hair, he noticed Milly's face soften. For that, he tried not to wince as the kid stuck her little forefinger in his ear and turned it while singing, “Unner t' sea, you n' me . . . “

 _Is he . . .is he putting up with her to impress me?_ Milly immediately dismissed the thought. _He just wants to look good to Dad, and Colette, and his sister-in-law, and his niece._ But what Doris said indicated she'd never seen V.A. do this before. Milly knew V.A. didn't give a damn what Holt thought of him. V.A. knew Colette so well he wouldn't try to impress her, and he barely acknowledged Joe's existence. Watching him force a smile and grimace while muttering, “Disney, my biggest competitor, she's singing Disney to _bait_ me,” Milly spilled giggles in spite of herself. She quickly looked away, feeling her face heat up.

When she glanced back Doris was taking the toddler from her brother-in-law. V.A.'s smile was heated, like her face, as he stared at her intensely.

 _I made her laugh._ His heartbeat skipped, then sped up. “Hey, brother,” he said to Adrian, while not taking his gaze from Milly's rapturously gorgeous face, “got room for one more?”

“What?” Adrian blinked.

“For _Thanksgiving?_ ” asked Doris.

“ _Tonight?_ ” said Liz.

V.A. scowled. “You've asked before.”

“We _stopped_ asking _ten years_ ago,” said Adrian. “Because you never said 'Yes.'”

“So I'm saying a belated Yes. Or are you going to throw me out into the cold, snowy black of night? Make me longingly gaze through the windows at you all eating dinner while I freeze to death like The Little Match Girl?” V.A.'s eyes became huge, blue orbs on the brink of tearing up and he frowned miserably as he looked at Milly.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling, so she looked at her father's scowl.

Before anyone could protest, V.A. hefted Ariana up and bounced her on his hip. “Over the river and through the woods, to Adrian's house we go!”

The toddler was delighted. She grabbed his coat lapels and gleefully babbled along, surprisingly in key, “Horse way carry sleigh snow we go OH!”

“I'll set another place.” Doris handed Ariana to her husband, then took V.A.'s coat and scarf.

Under the knee-length black wool coat V.A. wore a sharply tailored burgundy suit and vest, crisp white shirt, and silk burgundy tie with dark blue chevrons. The clothes he wore on the magazine cover. Milly's gaze unabashedly admired what she could see, while speculating on what she couldn't. _Does he have chest hair? Is it silver? Is it thick enough to run my fingers through? Does it go all the way down his stomach, and to . . ._

Her errant eyes focused on his crotch. It was quite clear that he filled it out. And quite clear that he – what did the circus costumer call it? – he “dressed” on his right.

Like a burner, heat flamed in her cunt.

“Milly, sugarplum, wash up for dinner.” Holt's voice was firm. His face was set on hers, as if she were an open book he could read from across the room, and he didn't like the contents.

“I'm not a _child_ , Dad.” Shame-faced because her father was giving her orders in front of V.A., Milly turned for the hall.

“Well, this _is_ a child,” said V.A., quickly, giving Ariana one more emphatic bounce, “and her hands are sticky. How about you help me clean her up?” Before Milly could answer, the man was beside her.

“Okay. Because...I don't know where the bathroom is.”

“There's two, one upstairs, one down. Upstairs is bigger. Follow me.”

The staircase couldn't be seen from the kitchen or the living room. The moment she knew she was out of sight of everyone else, Milly glanced behind her. V.A.'s blue eyes dazzled, ignoring the child straddling his neck. The upstairs hall was long, lined with doors, with the bathroom was at the end. Stunned by its size, Milly stood in front of the long mirror and double sinks set in a beige marble counter.

V.A. stood beside her, sitting the toddler on the counter. Milly looked at his hands as he turned on the brass faucet. They were large, square-ended. As his hands wet and then soaped up Ariana's, Milly watched his thumbs move, imagining what them rubbing her would feel like.

Over Ariana's singing, “Unner t' sea,” not looking at Milly's reflection, V.A. said, quietly, gruffly, “You look magnificent.”

The compliment surprised her. During their last encounter Vandevere had brought a tall, blond yoga instructor named Magnolia to show off Dumbo. He then argued with Milly about how to train the elephant. Defensive, and privately embarrassed by jealousy at the memory, Milly countered now with, “That's what matters, isn't it? What I look like?”

“You want me to not think that? Want me to ignore your appearance altogether? Or lie about it? Sure. Fine. You're a dump. Feel better? So is it acceptable for me to say you're clever and funny and fucking brilliant?”

“Wow, very classy to swear in front of the baby.” _Dammit, I'm blushing again._

“Oh, c'mon, like she understands.” With the bright, open face of an overly-enthusiastic preschool teacher, V.A. beamed at Ariana and said, in a sing-song, “Fuckity _fuck_ fuck!”

“Oh my god.” Milly covered her grin with her hand.

“Fart fart fuckity _shit!_ ”

The toddler squealed and patted her wet hands on his chin.

“Turd motherfucker!”

Milly's laugh echoed in the room, and she turned the faucet in front of her on high. “You're corrupting a child!” she whispered loudly at him.

V.A.'s eyes met Milly's in the mirror. His face turned serious. “Let me corrupt you.”

It caught her off guard. The electric tingle lit in her cunt again. Her quavering voice could barely be heard over the rush of water. “I said, I'm not a child. And I don't want to be corrupted.”

“You know I don't really mean that word. You have to know it, by now.” V.A. yanked a hand towel from the brass rack and dried Ariana's hands, not releasing Milly from the passion of his stare.

“I don't want to be one of your many jewels you have to reflect back on you ---”

V.A.'s hand snapped off the faucet. The color of his face heightened, even to his ears. The intensity of his raspy voice and spotlight eyes riveted Milly.

“ _Fuck_ what Colette says. That was about her. That was every woman before now. It doesn't pertain to _you_.”

“Dinner's ready!” Doris called down the hall.

The man and the young woman looked away from their reflections and faced each other. The charge fairly crackled the air, making the room smaller, alarmingly intimate. The magnetic tug drew V.A. closer.

Hard, fast footsteps announced Holt's Kentucky short boots.

Milly grabbed Ariana from the counter and held her tight, V.A. stepped back several feet, and Holt pushed open the door. His ebony eyes glistened suspiciously. He sized up the man drying his cuffs on a hand towel and his daughter holding the smiling child.

“ _Dinner_ ,” stated Holt. He stepped away and glared at his daughter commandingly.

Holding the toddler close, Milly walked down the hall as calmly as she could, trying not to let the vibrations shaking her from her lips to her clit affect her stride.

V.A. hung the towel on the rack. At the door he answered Holt's glower with the same satirically sweet grin he'd given Ariana. “Yum yum!” he chirped, then showed a little more fang. He chortled as he walked down the hall, feeling Holt's laser eyes on his back.

* * *

Everyone helped carry dishes to the long, modern wood and steel table in the dining room with the high ceiling. Even V.A.. Adrian raised an eyebrow, but Doris elbowed him. Adrian claimed one end of the table, and V.A. grabbed the other. He got to his feet to pull out the chair to his right, giving Milly a meaningful look. Holt was about to take the chair when Milly quickly sat down. Setting his jaw, Holt moved for the chair to Vandevere's left, but Colette beat him to him. Holt sat next to her resentfully as Joe sat next to Milly. Liz was next to Joe, with Arianna in a high chair across from her, and her mother next to the child.

When Adrian popped the wine's cork Liz pushed her glass forward. “DAD. You said.” Sweetly, she reminded him, “For the holiday.”

Toomes paused, bottle in hand. “Holt? Okay is Milly has some?"

Milly was irritated that he asked her father and not her whether she wanted any. Suddenly she wanted to feel like an adult, separated from her father's idea of her.

“In France, the young, they are always allowed wine with dinner,” Colette stated.

“In France they do a lot of things we don't here.” Holt jerked in surprise, then shot a look at Colette. Milly surmised a kick had been delivered on her behalf. Her father's nose wrinkled. “Sugarplum? You want to taste it?”

“I do!” cried Joe.

 _Of course he calls me by my little girl name in front of everyone_. Milly traded conspiratorial glances with Liz, knowing the other girl hated it when her father called her Gumdrop when others were around. “Sure,” she said.

From the corner of her eye Milly noticed V.A's mouth curl sideways in a barely suppressed smile. _He enjoys me standing up to Dad. Well. So do I_.

Adrian shrugged. Wine was poured for all but the toddler, and only a tablespoon for Joe. Milly held up her glass. Adrian paused when the glass was half full. Milly lifted it as if to show it was too light. He filled it as much as he had for all the adults.

“Thank you, Mr. Toomes.” Bringing the glass to her lips, Milly inhaled a sweet scent, better than any she'd caught from roustabouts' bottles, and even what Colette brought for dinner with Dad.

Its tiny bubbles tickled her nostrils. It tasted of berries, smoke, and spice. To her surprise it had no burn of alcohol, not like the truly awful wine the second boy she'd slept with had purchased from a corner liquor store. “White doesn't give you a headache,” he'd bragged. A lie. _This_ wine was smooth across her tongue, followed by a strange but not unpleasant dryness.

V.A.'s voice was low in volume and tone, directed to her. “Hold off until you eat something.”

Milly narrowed her eyes at him. “This isn't my first wine, you know.” She swallowed a mouthful.

“Maybe the first that won't make you blind,” he snickered.

“You don't know anything.”

“Let me guess. Some college guy, some cheap bottle of, what, Boone's Farm?”

She blushed from his accuracy. “You're a snot.”

“At least _I_ know how to savor a _Brachetto d'Acqui_ spumante. It's an apetif, not dinner. _Sip,_ for god's sake.”

“Snot,” Milly repeated, and downed another mouthful. He chuckled at her, so she made a face at him.

Sitting down, Adrian raised his glass. “A toast.” Everyone's glasses lifted, the crimson liquid sparkling in the warm light. “To friends, to family, to success, to,” he looked at Doris with warm, soft eyes, “love.”

Milly caught her father and Colette's lingering gaze. She didn't dare look at V.A.

Everyone said, “A toast.”

“Fuckity fuck fuck!” Ariana chimed in.

They stared at her.

“ _Turd motherfucker!_ ” Ariana added, banging her hands on her high chair and chortling merrily.

“Ade,” said V.A., shaking his head as he admired the light glowing through his wine, “you have to stop taking her to visit the salvage yard. The _stuff_ she's picking up.”

* * *

“Your house is so beautiful, Mrs. Toomes.”

Mellowness flowed through Milly's veins. It wasn't entirely from the wine. The dinner had been wonderful, as had been the conversation. Seated at her elbow, V.A. had parried with her about affordable tickets versus earning a profit to run Dreamland, how training an animal with love can't be scientifically measured and therefore can't be proven effective, and whether the 1% should be taxed to help fund universal health care. The others hadn't listened, being busy with their own discussions. While the impresario and young woman had jabbed at each other, their elbows on the table had touched ever so slightly. The more they pushed back against each other's arguments, the closer their heads had bent toward each other. When V.A. paused, swallowed, and whispered, “Look at me through your lashes again,” Milly's face set alight. She abruptly stood up, declaring, “I'll clear the dishes!” and grabbed his plate from under his nose.

“That's okay, Milly, it's _my_ job.” Adrian took the plate from her. “You go ahead and sit with the others in the living room. We've got the fire goin'.”

The stone fireplace was huge. In front of it, two long, wide couches faced each other over a square coffee table. Adrian, Holt, and Colette sat on one, Liz, Milly, then V.A. on the other. Joe was content to sit on the floor.

V.A. switched from wine to the Kentucky bourbon Holt had brought. He resentfully admitted, to himself, that it was excellent. He was tempted to make a snide inquiry whether Holt's family brewed this in the Appalachian hills, hidden from the 'revenuers, but knew attacking Milly's father would ruin the mood building between he and the girl. _It'll never come to anything,_ he mused, pursing his lips, _but I can enjoy it for what it is, however long it lasts._

It was a perfect mood. The curtains of the two-story windows were open to the back yard. Big, fluffy snowflakes drifted down from the clear, starry sky, and were piling up at an impressive rate; two and a half feet of snow already, and the night was young. The room was lit only by firelight.

With half-lidded eyes, V.A admired the young woman. Milly's magnificent, barely contained mane glistened. Her huge eyes were softened by, what, the wine? She'd given as good as she got during their dinner debate, those soft, full lips smiling the whole time. Incrementally, he'd moved closer to her as they spoke. She hadn't retreated. In fact, when his knee unintentionally touched hers, she didn't move it. The touch of their elbows and knees had completed a circuit that electrified his crotch. Only the presence of the others had kept his cock from responding. Only _just._

She could have sat anywhere on the two big couches, but she'd placed herself next to him. She crossed her leg, toward him. The skirt of her red velvet dress pulled back enough to reveal several inches of thigh. V.A. realized she wasn't wearing panty hose. But then, young women didn't anymore, did they? His left hand, nearest to her, twitched and tightened on his knee to keep from slipping across the couch and slowly pulling back her skirt, like a velvet drop cloth being removed to reveal a breathtaking work of art.

 _Is she wearing panties? Asshole, of course she's wearing panties. What do they look like? Please, dear god, don't let her be one of those idiot girls who gets a Brazilian, a look only a pedophile could love. Let her bush be lush, like her mane._ _Like_ , his gaze fell on her firelit cleavage, _like_ _ **those**_ _._

Vandevere sneered at himself and shifted. _Like I'll ever find out._ He paused, his drink at his dry lips. _Why is she wearing a dress?_

He'd never seen Milly in a dress before. When she was picketing Dreamland's animal acts she wore a t-shirt and jeans. Rehearsing Dumbo, she wore the green jumpsuit he'd had the costumer make for her.

The dinner wasn't meant to be formal. Adrian and Doris were causal people. Liz wore a nice, new white sweater and good jeans. Holt had a good quality pale blue light denim shirt and crisp jeans. Colette had an elegant, sage green cashmere sweater and beige brushed wool pants.

 _Why's Milly dressed up so perfectly?_ V.A. swallowed. _For me?_

His excitement crashed immediately. She hadn't known he was coming. _He_ hadn't. He wasn't going to stop by. But Colette had come into his office yesterday, saying she and the Farriers were invited, and the least V.A. could do was come by to give his twin some wine.

V.A. couldn't have given a damn about mending fences with his brother. But . . . _Milly_ was going to be there. It'd be the first time he'd ever see her away from Dreamland. Even if he didn't stay long enough to speak with her, he longed to know what she'd look like when it wasn't about business.

 _Oh god_ , how she looked. _What on earth inspired her to wear such a flattering, teasingly revealing ---_

Realization hit Vandevere so hard he lowered his glass and glared at Colette.

The woman, seated close to cheerily tipsy Holt, his arm affectionately around her shoulders, met his accusing eyes. She smiled sideways, her eyes slipping from V.A., to Milly, and back again with a raised eyebrow.

_**She told Milly.** She must have picked the dress for her. Helped her with her hair. Choose the shoes and the jewelry._

_Because Milly **wanted** me to see her like this._

V.A.'s gaze snapped over to the young woman seated beside him.

Milly was oblivious to being watched. She was listening to the pop and crackle of the burning logs, the soft holiday music from the radio, and the parents comparing notes about working conditions. Joe yawned. Languidly, the young woman leaned back and slid down several inches. With her toes she tugged the shoes off her aching feet, and curled her legs up on the couch. Her bare feet touched one of Vandevere's wide-apart thighs. She instantly shifted so they were an inch away.

“Sorry to get my feet on you,” she said, gazing up at him. She had barely touched him, but it was enough to tell her how solid his thigh was.

“I'm not,” he said, softly. Her skirt had ridden up three more inches. The firelight enriched the color of her skin. _Hot, melted caramel mixed with cinnamon. I want to lick it._

 _Is he looking where I think he is?_ Milly swallowed. When Colette had told her V.A. might stop by to drop off a bottle, the girl had immediately babbled that the only holiday parties she'd ever been to were the Medici circus', and for once, just for once, she wanted to dress _nicely_ , not showy, but, oh, something pretty, whatever that might mean, and did Colette have any suggestions?

The neckline of the red velvet dress was deeper than Milly had ever worn, and its skirt shorter. She's come a breath away from objecting. But Colette gave her gold and ruby earrings and a matching necklace, and all Milly's reluctance vanished. _If he sees me . . . what will he think?_

At this moment, his frighteningly intense eyes were telling her. His lips – she'd never thought full lips looked good on white men, but on him, _oh_ \--- compressed, then slightly parted, as if he wanted to taste something forbidden.

Milly looked away from him and nodded to indicate the falling snow. “It's so beautiful.”

“It is,” V.A. said, his eyes on her breasts rising and falling with her breathing, as if she were feeling excited. _About what?_

“It must be three feet deep now. Our cars must be buried.”

“So who wants to go home?” His blood warmed by the bourbon and the sight of her, V.A. grinned and sang, “ _Oh, the weather outside is frightful_ . . .”

Surprised, Milly grinned back. Without thinking, she sang, “ _But the fire is so delightful_.”

Everyone stared.

His voice rich and full, V.A. continued, “ _But as long as you love me so . . ._ ”

Milly's heart skipped. She swallowed. Together, they sang, “ _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow._ ”

“ _Wow._ ” Liz blinked in shock. “You guys sound really, _really_ good.”

 _Can I please stop blushing?_ Milly focused on the fire and sipped her wine.

“You shouldn't hide that talent,” said V.A. His inhaling deepened.

“I don't like to perform.” Milly shifted self-consciously. “I don't like to be stared at.”

Having never been shy in his life, and always craving the spotlight, V.A. was confounded by her reticence. “Even when it's a compliment?”

Milly's eyes narrowed as she glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was teasing her. “I don't like being objectified.”

“So, is all appreciation of talent and appearance just surface? When people applaud your Dad riding horsies, are they just _objectifying_ him?”

“It's different for men,” stated Milly, her tone digging in its heels.

“Really? _Enlighten_ me.”

“Keep me out of it,” muttered Holt, sleepily. “Whatever it is y'all're talking about.”

“The pie'll be done in half an hour,” Doris updated as she walked in, carrying Ariana. The toddler stood next to seated Joe, playing with a pine cone from the coffee table centerpiece as if it were a toy car.

“I'll save a slice in the freezer to take to Peter when vacation's over,” said Liz. “Mom's pumpkin pie is _the best_.”

“Why didn't you invite him, honey?” said Doris.

“Don't encourage her,” grunted Adrian.

Liz rolled her eyes. “He's a _friend_ , Dad. He's not interested in being anything else. If he was, he'd actually ask me out.”

“Not true,” said Adrian. “If a guy likes you he may be too scared to open his yap.” He sipped his drink. “Good thing, too. You don't need to be dating.”

“Oh, hush,” said Doris. To her daughter she said, “Let me tell you, it took your Daddy _forever_ to get the gumption to ask me out.”

Adrian muttered, “I knew if I said the wrong thing you'd kick me to the curb.”

Holt settled back, his arms along the back of the couch. “Tied my gut in knots for months scrapin' up the courage to talk to Annie.” Looking slightly worried, he said to Colette, “And you.”

It struck Milly as counterintuitive. “If you _want_ someone to know you like them, you'd _tell_ them. Not telling them doesn't make sense.”

“The human heart, when has this made sense?” Looking meaningfully at Holt, Colette said, “Often the deeper the infatuation, the more silent the man. And too the object of his heart. _Entre deux cœurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles_.”

“'Two hearts in love need no words,'” translated Liz, proudly.

“ _Exactement._ You are a credit to your French instructor.” The woman transferred her significant expression to Milly, who only looked confused.

Sourly, Adrian tossed at V.A., “You're the exception. You dive right in. Silver hair, silver tongue.” The copy of _Prestige_ was on the coffee table. Adrian picked it up, flipped through it, and held it facing V.A., open to a photograph of him at one of his movie premieres. At his side was a tall, very slender blonde woman in a shimmering white dress. “How'd ya sweet talk this one? Or I guess you don't need to. Your money does all the talkin' for you.”

Milly glanced at it. A Lacome model. Whenever she'd seen her commercials Milly had always wanted to give the poor girl a sandwich. _If_ _ **that's**_ _what he's attracted to, then he's just making fun of me._ She made a derisive snort and watched the falling snow.

V.A. could see it bothered Milly. Defensively, he said to his brother, while making sure Milly heard, “I date, okay? Is that allowed? I'm a healthy man, and I date. And I don't worry about rejection because I've never met a woman whose rejection could hurt me.” He took the magazine from his brother and contemptuously examined the photo. “I don't even remember her name.”

“You don't have to,” muttered Milly. “It's on billboards and bus shelter ads all over New York.”

“It didn't mean anything. None of them do.” V.A. tossed the magazine on the table.

Joe surreptitiously opened it to the woman. Ariana, who'd found a pen, began drawing wings on her while babbling in sing-song.

“ _That's_ a healthy attitude toward women.” Doris' sarcasm was so dry it cracked.

“Seriously, Uncle V.A.?” said Liz. “ _God._ ”

“Which is why you're alone on Thanksgiving,” said Adrian.

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“Alone.”

“Come on. We've all dated people we didn't feel deeply for. Am I right? Holt?”

Holt pursed his lips and shook his head. “I met Annie when I was twenty. That was it for me.”

“You never dated anyone before her?”

“Nope. And not after.” Holt squeezed Colette, who smiled at him. “Until now.”

“Doris?”

“Not anyone I didn't care for. Who's got time for that?”

“Liz?”

“Uncle V.A., that would be so cold. And why would I? What fun would that be?”

Vandevere scowled. “So I'm a heartless villain, huh?”

“ _I_ have,” Milly blurted.

V.A. stiffened. He looked at her incredulously. _Is she really going to tell her dad about the college boys_ _ **now**_ _?_

Holt's thick, black brows crouched together. “News to me.”

“They weren't _dates._ We just . . . went for coffee. Or pizza.” Since meeting Vandevere, lying to her father came alarmingly easy to Milly. In an afternoon after rehearsing Dumbo, alone together, Milly had confessed to V.A. about her sexually experimental liaisons with two boys on two separate occasions, and how unsatisfying and saddening they'd been.

Holt sat up rigidly, his eyes narrowed. “News to _me_.”

“Shouldn't be,” said Doris. “ _Look_ at your daughter, Holt. 'Cuz I can guarantee, _a lot_ of people do.”

“Holt,” said Colette, firmly. “Let Milly talk.”

“Sometimes – I think – you can be lonely and want to be with someone, but to not be in love. Or infatuated, or anything serious. Maybe you even just want,” the young woman kept her eyes on her empty glass, avoiding V.A.'s focused inquisitiveness and her Dad's alarmed confusion, “to cuddle. Or have sex. And it not to _mean_ anything. That way, you can part without either person being hurt.”

“Sounds like you've thought a lot about this.” Holt's concern was barbed with brusqueness.

“Dad, I'm _eighteen_. I'm about to turn _nineteen_. What do you think I think about when I'm not working? _Dolls?_ ”

“I think your Dad's just worried about the predators out there.” Adrian's tone was fatherly. “Like I am about Liz.”

“We _both_ know all about that,” Liz snapped.

“The obvious ones, yeah.” Toomes added, pointedly, “What about billionaire playboys looking for a good time, who seem safe on the surface?”

“Oh, well, fuck you very much,” V.A. snarled.

“Babe, don't be harsh,” said Doris, placing a hand on her husband's thigh.

Adrian set down his glass. “Harsh, hell. He's _proud_ of being a faithless playboy.”

“I'm _honest_ about it,” said V.A.

“Considering your sex life's in every tabloid, you don't have a choice.”

“Ever think maybe, just _maybe_ , tabloids _lie?_ Because it sells issues?” From the corner of his eye Vandevere checked Milly. She was looking down at her glass, running her fingertip nervously around its base. He emphasized, “They make money peddling shit. You know how many stories about me tabloids have retracted because I threatened to sue? But they always bury their tiny-print apologies somewhere in the middle, under ads for copper-infused compression socks. You know how many women I've dated once – _once_ – and all I did was kiss them goodnight and go home, by _myself_ , and they've sold lies about,” he gestured furious air quotes, “'My Night of Passion With V.A.'? Or, in the case of one who was pissed I didn't fall in love with her, 'V.A. Vandevere Can't Get It Up.'”

Holt barked a laugh, then chuckled as Vandevere sliced an icy look at him.

Colette snorted. “This article, I remember.”

Vandevere gestured to the French woman. “The _one_ woman I dated who never lied about me.”

“There was never _amour_ with us.” Colette glanced very quickly at Milly, making the briefest eye contact. In that moment, she tried to reassure the young woman. “The break, this was amicable. We are employer and employee. This, it is much better.” She pressed against Holt. He quickly put his arms around her shoulders again.

“You're going to learn too late, brother,” said Adrian, “nothing more important than family.”

“Says the man who legally changed his family name.”

“ _We_ didn't have a family. We had a drunk dad and a living ghost for a mother.” Adrian stood up. “I'm grabbing some more wine.”

While her father went into the kitchen, Liz mused, “I could never fall for a guy who couldn't tell me what he feels for me.” She looked at Milly. “What about you?”

The young woman's eyes flicked toward V.A., then, when he noticed, quickly retreated. “What he says doesn't matter if it's a just lie to have sex with you.”

As Toomes returned with a bottle and a corkscrew, Doris said, “Mmhmm, ain't that the damn truth.” To her husband she smirked, “Present company excepted.”

“But how can you _tell_ if he's lying?” said Liz.

Holt, with worry, looked across to his daughter. “Sugarplum, if a boy's consistent and you watch his behavior, and other people you trust speak up for him, you'll know what he feels is true.” His jaw worked and he added, “But not until _after_ college.”

Weary from her father treating her as if she were still fifteen, Milly's mutter was lackluster. “I'm not going to college. Not unless we win the lottery.”

“Well, Dumbo may be our ticket.” Holt managed a wan smile of camaraderie at his employer. “Right, Mr. Vandevere?”

V.A. was oblivious to Holt's question. His hand meditatively rubbed his knee closest to Milly. “Sometimes, when a man wants to win a woman, he's anything but silent. He tries too hard.” He hoped she was listening. It was impossible to tell, since she was looking away from him, at the huge fireplace. “Sometimes he tries to be seductive, thinking it'll flatter her. Or he shows off how much money he has, or builds himself up as a big deal. But he comes across as an arrogant bastard.”

“ _Flash Thompson_.” Liz's head dropped backward and she groaned. “ _Ugh_. He thinks he's _God's gift._ Milly, remember him? We went to pick up pizza and he asked you out?”

Holt sat up straight. “Who?”

“I didn't say yes, Dad. Flash is a braggart.” V.A.'s presence vibrated next to her with heat. Struggling against the urge to lean into him, as Doris was with Adrian and her Dad was with Colette, Milly said, “There's a difference between a man telling the _truth_ about having accomplished things and him bragging. A girl _is_ impressed by someone who's done great things. Why wouldn't she be? Why be interested in some teenage guy who doesn't know anything but thinks he does?”

V.A. slowly realized Milly was paying him a compliment. His face flushed and his hands grew warm.

Holt's voice was as tight as his grip on the reins of a rebellious colt. “Because a teenage girl should be interested in someone _her_ _own age_.”

“I'm just talking, Dad. It's not autobiographical.” Disgruntled, Milly slid down into the couch. “I'm not even _dating_.”

The oven timer went off. Adrian rose. “Who wants pie?”

“We will help.” Colette stood, dragging confused Holt to his feet. Joe declared, “Us, too!” The two couples and the boy, holding Ariana's hand, went to the kitchen.

With Liz there, V.A. didn't dare speak to Milly. Instead, he uncorked the wine.

Milly watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled the wine's aroma. She wanted so much to rub her nose against his. Aware that Liz was looking her direction, she gave her attention to her empty wine glass. As V.A. filled his own glass, she offered hers.

Liz raised an eyebrow. “Girl, you already _had_ a full glass. And you've never had wine before.”

Milly never told Liz about her two encounters with boys, so she didn't know they'd provided awful wine, in the hope of getting her drunk. Inebriation hadn't been necessary. After their fumbling, inept, unsatisfying liaisons, Milly had wine, if only to get some pleasure out of something. But the wine was terrible, too. She didn't know why she wanted wine now. It _did_ taste good. It didn't taste like alcohol at all. She wanted to feel like an adult. She wanted to quell her shivering every time she glanced at V.A. She wanted courage to dare to express what she felt. But she seemed incapable of confidence. If nothing else, the wine made her feel calmer, and slowed down reality just a little bit so she wasn't overwhelmed.

“I ate. I'm fine,” Milly said.

Vandevere held the open bottle, but didn't pour. “You're a little tipsy.”

“Alcohol makes you relax,” Milly stated, with authority she knew she didn't have.

“No, it makes you drunk,” countered V.A. “Don't fall for that romanticized college boy crap about booze releasing your inhibitions.”

“It's not like I have to ask _your_ permission,” Milly snapped. She was indifferent to whether she had more alcohol or not. But he'd used the secret knowledge of her having wine with those boys, and in front of Liz, who didn't and never would know. To assert her autonomy, Milly resentfully reached for the bottle.

V.A. held it away from her.

Milly met his eyes with full bore irritation. “Maybe you don't like college boys because you never _were_ one.”

Liz grimaced. “Yikes. OOoookay, I'm gonna go get my pie.” She hurried into the kitchen.

“ _Touche_ ,” V.A. whispered, still holding the bottle away. “So tell me, do you feel you can't be yourself unless you artificially loosen up? Is _that_ how you lost your virginity to the first boy?”

“I did not get drunk. I'm not drunk now, am I?”

“No. But you're using it to relax, a bad reason --”

“Just because your father was a drunk doesn't mean everyone who has a little wine to relax is going to end up needing A.A.”

“ _Touche_ again. Okay, I kind of deserved that.”

“Y _ou've_ had two glasses. _You're_ not drunk. You're not even 'tipsy.'”

“I'm an old veteran at this. Real old.”

Milly paused. She saw the momentary pain that creased his brow. “You're not _old_. Stop calling yourself that.” She glanced toward the kitchen. Dishes were clinking, they were all laughing. She dropped her voice. “I'm sorry what I said about your not going to college. And about your father. Sotheby and Colette . . . “

“Told you all about my past.”

Milly looked into his eyes apologetically. “I didn't ask them to. I'd never intrude into your privacy.”

“I know. But _they_ wanted you to understand me better.”

So. He knew his former lover and what passed for his only friend were telling Milly secrets about him not even the nosiest paparazzo knew. But he didn't mind. Instead, he looked relieved. Even hopeful. Milly felt less guilty.

“I'm sorry about your Dad,” she whispered.

V.A. knew, judging from the sounds in the kitchen, that the others would return in a few seconds. He might never have another opportunity to speak with her alone tonight. He grabbed it. “Don't be. His taking off was the best thing that could have happened to me. Dreamland wouldn't exist if he hadn't left.” He swallowed. “And I'd have never met you.”

Milly's eyes widened just as Colette entered, a plate with pie in each hand. Experienced as she was, the French woman instantly recognized what must have transpired in her absence. As she bent over to hand the young woman her plate, she whispered, “Do you think I would stand by if _this_ one was going to hurt you? Because this _I_ above all would know.” To Va, she growled, “If you prove I am wrong, you will regret it. As Max says, ' _Capische?_ ' “

They gaped at her as Colette sat across from them, smilingly knowingly. “Do not let your mouths hang, unless it is to insert pie. _Ssssh!_ Here come the others.”

Their families returned, pie in hand. Milly and V.A. focused on their plates as Holt not so secretly scanned the older man suspiciously.

“Oops, forgot the whipped cream.” Doris started to get up.

“Don't worry, babe, here it comes,” said Adrian, smiling proudly.

Ariana toddled into the living room, holding a copper bowl as big as her head. With remarkable precision for her size and unfamiliarity with balance, she placed the bowl on the coffee table. It was filled with whipped cream that wafted the lovely scent of vanilla. Ariana held aloft a large silver spoon as if it were a magical sword. One after the other the child dolloped whipped cream atop proffered pie slices.

Milly didn't plan it; she didn't know she was going to do it. Unconsciously, she made a decision. When the toddler held the bowl for Milly as she was seated on the couch, the young woman's knee kicked upward, jarring it. The cream flew out, splattering her face, neck, chest, lap, and V.A.'s chest and knees.

“Ariana!” cried Doris, as everyone leapt to their feet.

The child cried in protest as her mother lifted her away.

“It wasn't her!” said Milly. “It was me! I'm so sorry!” Whipped cream was on the couch and the floor. Milly stood and cried, “I'll go to the bathroom and clean up!”

At the living room entrance she stopped, looked back, and saw the chaos of the toddler crying and the adults trying to comfort her, while Liz ran for the kitchen to get paper towels.

Milly's eyes locked on V.A.'s. She saw her meaning dawn on him.

V.A. spouted, “Aw fuck, my suit! I better wash up!”

Dripping whipped cream as she went, Milly hurried up the stairs and to the last door on the left. She flicked on the light, which was soft, warm, and golden. Her reflection confronted her in a huge window over a double sink. Half of her was spattered with cream, even her hair.

V.A. appeared in the mirror. He closed the door. Milly heard it lock.

He exhaled the breath he'd been holding. His voice was low, deep, and smooth. “Would you have done that if you weren't tipsy?”

“I don't know.” Her voice was tiny. “I would have wanted to.”

“ _Before_ today?”

“Yes.” Trembling, she turned and looked up at him. “ _Yes_.”

V.A. swallowed. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No.” Milly's throat was dry. “ _Show me_.”

V.A. drew a forefinger along the curve of her cheek, scraping off the cream. He swallowed so hard his Adam's Apple jumped. Slowly, his tongue, a vivid pink, wrapped around his finger as her eyes widened and watched its every move. His tongue sucked the cream and licked the remnants from his reddening lips. Milly's breath caught as his finger followed along her chin, gathering more cream. Milly leaned forward. His eyes burned like blue flame as her full lips embraced his finger, taking it in all the way. She closed her eyes and shivered as her tongue worked, as she pulled back until his finger was released, damp and clean.

V.A. leaned down and ran his tongue over her right cheek, then her left, then down her chin. Milly grabbed his vest as his tongue snaked down her neck, sucking, lapping.

“All of it,” Milly whispered. “Please. _All of it._ ”

She arched her back as his tongue dove into her cleavage, making tiny panting sounds as her fingers grabbed his shoulders. His hands gripped her buttocks as he pushed his nose between her breasts. When he came up for air, he had whipped cream across his jaw. “D _o you have any idea what you do to me?”_

V.A. grabbed her face. Their first kiss was fast, deep, frantic. Taller, he bent down, his mouth working, his tongue tangling with hers. When they needed air Milly pulled away to cover his face with kisses, to nibble his lips, to press and fall into another kiss that made her heady.

Urgently, blindly as they kissed, her hand reached downward. He guided it. She felt the bulge pressing his zipper and cupped it, shivering. He covered her hand with his, pressing it.

“I want your cream.” He guided her hand all around the bulge as he gasped. “I want to make you cream. I want to fill you with my cream. Again. _And again_.”

“V.A.,” she whispered, “ _Fill me._ ”

He withdrew just enough to hold her face in his hands. His eyes were bright yet damp, like light beaming through a rainstorm. Quavering, he said, “I adore you. I worship you. I _love_ you.”

Milly couldn't blink.

“Ask Sotheby.” V.A.'s thumbs stroked her cheeks. “Ask Colette. They've known all along. They'll tell you I'm not lying.”

“I know you're not,” she said, sincerely. “ _I'm_ not, either.”

Sounds came from downstairs.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Milly begged.

V.A. yanked open her back zipper. His hands simultaneously peeled her dress and bra straps off her shoulders.

He huffed as her full, round breasts spilled out. “Oh my god. OH my god, you're, oh god, so fucking _beautiful_.”

The young woman mewed and sunk her fingers in his short hair as his mouth sucked her right nipple, his left arm holding her upright as his right hand kneaded her left breast. He transferred his mouth to her right, his tongue swirling around it, circling her areole.

Devouring her breasts, supporting her firmly, V.A. reached under her skirt, his fingers frantically groping. He found the lace band of her panties and tugged. Milly parted her thighs wide enough for the panties to come down to her knees.

As laughter, and now voices on the radio, wafted upstairs, V.A. desperately grabbed fluffy yellow towels from the stack on the bathroom shelf. Swiftly, he covered the floor with them, building soft layers over the thin rug and hard wood. Frenetically, Vandevere loosened his tie and torn it off, followed quickly by his suit jacket. He hefted the young woman in both arms as she gasped, placing her on the mattress of towels. He yanked her panties down her legs, tossed them aside, knelt before her, and lifted her skirt.

The sight made him moan. As he'd always hoped and dreamed, her mound was lush with a thick triangle of curly, chestnut brown hair. Beneath, like a ripe, red berry, her clit had risen from its soft, protective sheath. Her labia was swollen, her caramel skin flushed mahogany, glistening from the moisture dripping from the slit V.A. had never dreamed he'd ever actually see.

Through a throat tight with passion V.A. managed to rasp, “Tell me what you want. Anything. _Anything_. I'll do it.”

“Kiss me.” Shaking, as she lay back and spread her thighs, Milly gently touched her clit. “ _Here_. _Please_.”

She felt cool air on her wet cunt, then his hot breath. Her hands clamped on his head as his lips secured her clit. Squeals of disbelief stuttered from her as Vandevere worked up, down, slowly, not too tight. Her thighs pressed together against his head as she cried, “It's too good, _oh god, oh god!_ ”

“ _Sssh_ ,” he reminded her. He massaged her clit, his nose pushing in her moist pubic hair. Fumbling, he ripped open his zipper and drove his trousers and black underwear down to his knees.

A voice called downstairs.

V.A. stroked his cock as his tongue probed up and down and into her slit. Milly squirmed and begged incoherently.

Colette sounded like she was at the top of the stairs. “Milly? You are alright in there?”

Milly managed to control her breath enough to call back, “I feel a little...” V.A. mouthed her cunt, his hands on her breasts. “I just need some time alone, to clean up.”

“All right. Come when you can.”

The necessity for silence and speed drove them. As V.A. positioned himself, Milly saw his cock for the first time. It lanced out from thick, silver-gray hair. It surpassed twice the thickness of the college boys', and though not so long that it frightened her with the prospect of pain, it surpassed theirs in length as well. The veins bulged along the red shaft, and it bowed upward, something she had never seen. Drops slid from the tiny slit in the enormous head. His balls were high, round, and enormous under his cock's base, explaining why his pants crotch was always filled out.

"This is what you do to me," he hissed.

Frantic, Milly implored, " _In me."_

Knowing urgency was demanded, but savoring every second, V.A. braced himself above Milly with his left arm and placed his drooling cockhead at her cunt lips. They inhaled together. He shoved.

Milly bit her lower lip as a delicious pressure pushed against her cunt walls in a way she'd never experienced. So thick, so literally hot, that she felt herself resisting. His cockhead bulge against sensitive areas that had never been stimulated before. She writhed and worked her hips, desperate for all of it.

V.A. couldn't take his incredulous eyes from the fantasy come to life. Milly's cunt stretched around his cock so tightly her sweet lubrication squeezed out around it. He huffed and gulped, advancing in, _in_ , as she whimpered and grabbed his wrists. His knees dug into and slid on the towels as he leveraged himself and pressed, watching her clit turn ruby. His cock felt as if it was gripped in a clenched fist, her muscles almost rippling as they swallowed him.

He fell forward, crossing his arms under her head to protect her from the hard floor. She threw her arms around his neck as he thrust forward, _hard_ , sending his cock to his balls.

V.A.'s hips pumped wildly, his cheek against hers, trying to muffle his wolfish panting. Milly gasps were sharp, choppy, as his cockhead rubbed a spot deep inside, inflamed, itching insanely.

“My baby,” he whispered as his thrusts jerked them back and forth, “my beautiful, beautiful baby, I'm finally _fucking you_.”

“V.A.,” Milly gulped, “ _harder_ , V.A., oh god, _baby_ , faster, harder, _don't stop, don't stop_ _ **don't stop.**_ _”_

The friction of his pounding, the hot, honey-wet tightness gripping his cock, the spot when he plunged to his aching balls that clipped and sucked his cockhead, worked him into a madness. His fingers dug into Milly's hair as the wet, rapid-fire slapping sound filled the room.

The inflamed itch of her cunt escalated with his hammering and animal grunts, until Milly cried into his ear, “Fuck me raw, baby, _fuck me raw,_ _ **fuck me raw**_ _._ ”

V.A. hooked his arms around her thighs, pulled them upward, arched his back, and humped like a dog, nipping her neck as she yelped and whined and thrashed under him. His balls tightened as he roared in her ear, “Who's been dreaming what I've been dreaming, huh, _baby_ , my tight cunt sweet baby, suck my cock, suck it, _milk me, baby,_ milk me dry, _fucking sweetest cunt, aw_ _ **fuck**_ _._ ”

The hammering inflamed her itch to ignition and exploded. Milly cried, “ _V.A_.” Her head fell back, lights dazzled behind her eyelids, her mouth silently screaming as fire burned along her cunt and her cunt muscles clenched, unclenched, clenched.

Milly constricted around his cock so tightly he could barely move, but V.A. could move enough. His pummeling thrusts became jerky as the pressure in his cock was almost painful, but, _oh god_ , so fantastic his hair stood on end. He thrust to the hilt as the electricity blasted from his balls to the base of his spine, and his cock engorged to the bursting point. He embraced her head as he cried, “ _Milly_ ,” and shot into the depth of her, his loins shuddering, his legs shaking, his cheek against hers, his cum jetting into her again and again.

They lay, entwined, under wave after wave of heat. The burning in Milly's cunt weakened, but its aftershocks squeezed his thickness. Both could barely open their eyelids. She felt a gentle scratchiness from the five o'clock shadow covering his jaw as he slowly turned his head and pressed his lips against her cheek, then nose, then lips, and drooped forward into her hair with exhaustion.

Footsteps forced them to surface.

“Are you decent in there?” Colette's tone was sharp and crucial. Before either could become coherent enough to answer, she said, “GET decent. NOW. Then open the door.”

Quivering, V.A. whispered in Milly's ear, “I don't want to pull out so soon, I wouldn't, I swear, but ---”

Milly nodded her understanding.

Unsteadily, V.A. slowly drew his cock from her snug heat. He saw their combined cum seep out with it, running down into the cleft of her buttocks, thick, as creamy as what he'd licked off her face. His cock, still slightly rigid, dripped onto her thigh as he stood up, took her hand, and carefully lifted her to her feet. He cupped her face and kissed her swollen lips.

Clumsily, V.A. pulled Milly's dress back up and zipped it, followed by his trousers. She found her bunched panties, soaked with her excitement. He pulled on his jacket.

“Let me in, _**now**_ , no matter what your situation,” Colette ordered.

The second V.A. unlocked the door the woman dove inside and shut it behind her. She didn't react to the strew towels and disheveled clothes. With a tight frown and serious, blazing eyes she fiercely stated, “This is what you do. _You_ ,” she jabbed V.A. with her forefinger, “get to the downstairs bathroom. They are this minute still in the living room; from there they cannot see you come down the stairs. You have been washing cream from your clothes; you never came up here, you do not know where Milly is, what she is doing, you have been in the downstairs _toilet_ all this time. You will stick your jacket and underwear down the laundry chute and _clean yourself_ , then go directly to the living room with this story. _You understand?_ ”

“Colette --”

“Go. NOW.”

With an apologetic look to Milly, V.A. exited the bathroom. Colette focused on the girl. “You will take a shower. I will say to them that you drank too much, you have been sick, it got all over your clothes. You have been here the whole time, _alone_ , feeling ill in the stomach, until the vomit, it comes, and you do not come out because you feel the fool. So I come, I see you have mopped up the vomit with the towels and toilet paper and tried to wash them in the shower. I tell you to take a shower. This is what we will say.” She quickly gathered up the towels from the floor and tossed them into the laundry chute down to the laundry room, that Adrian Toomes had designed for his home. She flushed the toilet for effect.

Milly began, “But, what will I wear --”

“Leave this to me. Wash with the _scented_ soap. The aroma of _amour_ , it is thick on you.” Colette opened the door, paused, and said, “Do not gape like the _bebe!_ Do as I say!” She snapped the door shut.

Carrying his shoes so he was silent in his socks, V.A. heard the local public radio station and Adrian and Holt talking as he hurried down the stairs. He dashed to the small bathroom halfway down the hall and secured the door behind him.

Exhausted, his leaned his hands on the sink. The mirror above it revealed his disheveled hair, flushed face and neck, and reddened areas where Milly had nibbled and lightly bit him. His terror of being caught transformed into silent giggles of astonished joy and residual passion.

“My god, I love her.” Vandevere gasped, then laughed, then clamped his lips closed, for fear he'd been heard. “I love her,” he whispered. He turned on the faucet, stepped out of his pants and underwear, rinsed his black briefs and then dropped them down the laundry chute, and sponge-bathed his crotch as best he could. Finished, he tossed the wet washcloth and the one he used to dry with.

He was an old hand at covering his tracks. Before he had always been clear-headed. Even after trysts with married women or showgirls who didn't want their reputations compromised he'd been cool and calm, hurrying his escape without evidence.

But now. He'd drowned in ecstasy, losing all grip on time and place, only aware of her, his Milly, his sweet baby. If Holt had burst in on them and held a gun to his head, he wouldn't have stopped.

As Vandevere zipped his fly he tried to think of how he'd explain his lack of underwear, if it were noticed. He wet down his pants crotch, so he could say that his black briefs had been soaked and uncomfortable. He'd ask for a change of clothes, since he and Adrian were the same size.

He slipped on his jacket and looked for his tie.

It wasn't there.

“ _Fuck._ ” V.A. looked out into the hall. It wasn't there. He glanced up the stairs. It wasn't there. He was about to hurry up them in case his tie was lying in the upstairs hallway – and how could he explain _that?_ – when he heard Adrian behind him say, “What the hell did you do? _Piss_ yourself? Why the fuck are your pants wet?”

* * *

Milly washed out as much of the dripped cum from the towels and her panties as she could, then crammed them, and her dress, down the dark chute. She placed two fresh towels within reach on the counter, then stepped into the shower.

Once the hot, pulsing spray water was loud, Milly allowed herself to gasp. She leaned against the tiled wall, opened her legs, and looked down. Milky cum ran down her thighs, a prodigious amount. But then, she'd cum harder than she ever had before. And V.A. had shuddered and shuddered as he was deep inside her.

_V.A. . . ._

She weakly grinned widely as the water ran over her. _I love him. I love him._ She'd already known was true, but had refused to acknowledge it. Now that she knew he loved her too, her fear melted down the drain with the frothy lilac scented soap and shampoo suds.

A knock startled her. “Milly?” Doris' voice. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Milly called, covering herself shyly.

The door cracked open, just enough for the woman's voice to carry. “Colette told us, hon. I'm so sorry. I brought you some of Liz's pajamas. Don't worry, you don't have to wear them home. News says it's a blizzard, so y'all going to stay the night. Might have to stay two, the way it's coming down.”

Sincerely touched, and feeling awful for betraying the Toomes' hospitality by fucking in their bathroom and lying to them, Milly opened her mouth to reply. Then she saw it on the floor. Burgundy silk with blue chevrons.

_His tie._

Reaching from the glass shower door, the girl grabbed a towel from the shelf and threw it. It landed next to the tie. Wrapping a towel around herself quickly, she leapt from the shower and snatched up the tie, just as the door opened. Milly stuffed the tie inside the towel wrapped around her and held it tightly closed.

“OH, sorry.” Doris politely looked away as she placed the clothes on the sink counter and slippers on the rug. She glanced at the towels on the floor.

To distract her, Milly said, quickly but meekly, “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Toomes. I didn't mean to ruin tonight --”

“ _Girl_ , you haven't ruined anything. The tales I could tell you about me at your age. Don't you fret. You come down when you're ready.” The door shut.

Immediately, Milly sent the tie down the laundry chute, praying that there'd be no way to tell that it came from the upstairs rather than downstairs bathroom. Taking deep, calming breaths, she dried herself. A glimpse in the mirror showed her hair was a bushy mane down to the small of her back. She was familiar to herself, yet felt as if she had been transformed.

Milly regretted having sent her bra down the chute. Liz's pajamas were tight across her bust and her butt. And they were pink, a color Milly avoided. Mrs. Toomes had kindly left out a hair pick for her. She combed out her hair to a cloud of tightly curled fluff.

Her cunt ached from the glorious beating it'd taken, and, Milly realized with a blush, a small blip of returning lust. She'd never cum like that before, and her body wanted more than anything to have it happen again.

“Not tonight,” Milly scolded herself. Once she was presentable and felt confident she could lie to her father without giving herself away, she slid her feet into the shearling slippers and headed downstairs.

* * *

As she descended to the ground floor Milly glimpsed Adrian in the dining room, talking on his phone. “Mason, the storm isn't going to knock out shit. It's snow, not a damn hurricane. Stop worrying like a mother hen. The generators will kick in if needed.”

From the kitchen she heard V.A.'s voice, “Just keep the crew plowing overnight. Of _course_ we'll be open Friday. Dreamland's Winter Wonderland will look even more amazing with the extra snow. I'll get there when I get there.”

“Sugarplum, you okay?” Holt sat up with concern as Milly entered the living room.

“It told you not to drink that much,” said Liz. “You must have spewed spectacularly.”

“I did. It was . . . a real mess. Thanks for the PJs.”

“You need anything?” Holt looked sincerely worried. “Pepto-Bismal? Tums?”

“Did you really upchuck all over your new dress?” asked Joe, in awe.

“Milly ick.” Ariana climbed onto the couch and patted the young woman consolingly. “Ick tum-tum!”

“I'm all better now.” She looked out the windows. “ _Wow!_ Look at it!” Snow was banked against the glass and piled on tree limbs so high they bowed. The wind howled down the fireplace, making the flames gutter.

“Nobody's goin' anywhere.” Adrian put his phone in his pocket as he came in. “Four feet high, and no end in sight.” He chuckled. “Good thing we've got a lot to eat.”

“You feel up to some hot chocolate?” Doris' motherly tone made Milly yearn for her own Mom. “Think your stomach could handle it?”

“I'm always up for hot chocolate!”

“Go on in the kitchen, it's on the stove, help yourself.”

When Milly came to the kitchen door she heard Colette's angry whispers. She peeked in.

“ _Es-tu fou?_ ” The French woman snarled at Vandevere from across the kitchen island. ” _Quelqu'un aurait pu vous voir!_ ”

“I don't need a lecture,” he growled, his arms across his chest. He wore red flannel pajamas under a red polar fleece robe. If she hadn't known it was he, she'd have mistaken him for his twin. _No_ , Milly corrected herself, _his eyes. His expressions. He's distinctively himself._

“I do not care what becomes of _you!_ But Milly! In your brother's bathroom! With Holt here! You could not keep it in your pants and wait – “

“I didn't want him to.” Milly stepped in, startling them. “It wasn't his idea.” She smiled as she went to him. “I seduced V.A. Vandevere.”

“Thank god.” The older man clasped her face adoringly. “ _Thank_ _god_.”

Colette swatted them apart with a baguette, then threw it down into the breadbasket and threw her hands imploringly to the heavens. “ _Discretion!_ _Mon dieu!_ **You** ,” she came around, yanked V.A. by the arm, and pushed him into the hall, “sit down!” To Milly, she said, “Your brain, this is intelligent! _Use it!_ ” She lightly slapped the girl's head.

All gathered in the living room. It was decided that Holt and Colette would have a guest room, V.A. another, Joe would have a camp bed in with Ariana, and Milly could use the second camp bed in Liz's room.

“Would it be all right if I stay here?” Milly, holding her hot chocolate close with one hand, patted the couch. “I'd love to fall asleep by the fire, while watching the snow.”

It was agreed. By eight thirty Ariana was carried to bed. Milly could sense Liz wanted to talk to her alone, no doubt to get details of her vomiting, so she focused on V.A. and Adrian's arguing about whether employees should be given the holiday off. At eleven Liz said goodnight. Joe, a circus child, rarely went to bed before midnight. Finally, at one A.M., Adrian threw a few more logs on the fire, brought Milly a thick pillow and a chinchilla blanket he claimed was left behind at a Victorian mansion his team had salvaged to sell the parts. Holt kissed his daughter's forehead and muttered, “Happy Thanksgiving, honey.” Colette squeezed her hand and winked. There were light, yawning “Goodnights” as they went to their designated rooms.

Milly curled on her side, cuddled under the incredibly soft and warm blanket, as the fire crackled and lowered and the snow swirled and danced. She ran what had happened through her memory, barely able to believe it. She fell asleep to the light _whoosh_ of the flames and pops and snaps of the logs.

* * *

She didn't know what time it was when she drifted awake. The fire was low; the logs glowed. The wind had quieted. Snowflakes gently spiraled through the air.

A figure was silhouetted in the doorway. She blinked sleepily at it.

“Who's been dreaming what I've been dreaming?” V.A. asked in a voice as soft as the snow as warm as the glowing fire.

“I have,” Milly whispered back.

He slowly walked to her. He sat on the floor, his chin on the couch near her face.

“My god.” V.A.'s voice was barely louder than the fire's crackling. He brushed her hair from her eyes and kept his hand there, his thumb softly caressing her cheek. “My god. You are so beautiful.”

Milly's hand came from under the blanket to stroke his stubble-covered chin. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you. To the depth of my being.” He sat up enough to kiss her, then returned to gazing worshipfully through half-closed eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, “how about we do this: Colette will break the news to your dad tomorrow.”

Milly blinked.

“He won't dare blow his top because he's staying as a guest. This'll give him time to process it. When we're back to Dreamland I'll ask him to my office, and --”

“Tell him about us?”

It was V.A.'s turn to blink. “Well. Yes. Look,” he stroked her hair, “I don't want you to feel like you're some random fuck I'm trying to keep quiet about. That I want you to hide in the background. I _love_ you. I want everyone to know it.”

“Baby. That's the problem. Everyone _would_ know.”

“What's wrong with that? Your Dad will be forced to accept --”

“ _Everyone_ will know. Because paparazzi will follow me. _Everywhere_. You know how they are. They'll sneak into Dumbo's rehearsals – they've tried already, you're the one who told me. They'll film me when I go jogging, when I go shopping, when I do _anything_.”

V.A. winced at the truth of it. “Baby, once Dumbo succeeds, you're going to be in the spotlight anyway.”

“Not if I don't want to be. I've already asked you not to put my name on the posters and websites. Everyone thinks Dad's the trainer, and he doesn't mind. He loves the spotlight.” Milly ran her forefinger across her lover's V-shaped eyebrows. “And Joe. Pararazzis will hound him, trying to get him to talk about us. You know Joe's too trusting. And then there's . . . the age difference.”

He frowned. “Does it bother you?”

“No! Not me!” She kissed him. “But, like you've said, Disney World is your competition. Walt Disney posed as squeaky clean, though he wasn't. Dreamland visitors can handle you dating movie stars and models; they expect billionaires to do that. But . . . I'm younger than anyone you've been with before. Technically, I'm a teenager. You _know_ what they'll call you if they find out about me. That I'm of legal age and this is _my choice_ won't matter. The Walt Disney Corporation, other movie producers and theme park owners, they'll come after you, smear you. _Lie_ about you, about _us_. They could _ruin_ you.”

“And you claim you aren't savvy about business. All right, all right. Give me a moment to sulk.” V.A. forced an exaggerated frown, evoking a small laugh from his lover. “We'll have to be, as Colette said,” he pulled the caricature of a sophisticated expression of superiority and French accent, “ _discrete, mon amour_.” As his girl giggled, he ran his palm down the curve of her waist and hips. “You _do_ still want to be with me? Don't you?”

“Try and stop me.” The girl hooked her hand behind his neck and drew him in. He rose on his knees, held her face, and kissed her, opening her lips with his tongue. Milly turned onto her back as his left hand slid under her pajama top. His hand closed on her breast.

“Come to my room,” he panted.

“I want to. I want to! But it's too dangerous.”

“Ugh, christ, I know. Baby, I have to retreat, or I'm going to fuck you right here.”

“I want to! Arggh! When we can be _alone?_ ”

“Not for a while. First, this damn snow, then I'm going to be busy with Dreamland's Christmas and Hanukkah crap.” He kissed her hand passionately. “We'll figure it out. Because I can't go long without my Milly.”

“When we're around other people we'll have to play like we still hate each other.”

“Baby! I never hated you! Did you hate me?”

“Noooo. I've wanted to _punch_ you more than once.”

“And I've wanted to give you a spanking.” Vandevere rubbed his nose against hers. “Still do.”

“Sir, I'm not into rough stuff.”

“How about you text me a list of your preferences and dislikes?”

“Your texts get hacked. Remember that one actress?”

“Aw, fuck, you saw that tabloid? Don't remind me. I didn't even like her. Email me, then.”

“Your emails get hacked.”

“Shit, fine. Send a note via Sotheby.”

“ _Him_ I can trust.” Milly nipped his chin. “Did you really tell him you love me? What did he say?”

With a clunky British accent, V.A. said, drolly, “'You've always had excellent taste. And if you hurt her you I will hire someone to castrate you.'”

They both chuckled.

Upstairs, Ariana faintly called for her mother.

V.A. groaned. He and Milly kissed, deep, long. He kissed along her hairline, then her nose, mouthed, _I love you,_ and slipped silently to his room, just missing being seen by Doris as she came out to check on the child.

Milly sighed and snuggled back down. With a heart full of thankfulness, she slipped into sleep.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Arianatheangelsworld. Inspired by her suggestion for a fic about modern V.A. "meeting his brother for thanksgiving dinner/holiday or get together."
> 
> Originally meant as a minific on tumblr, the characters took over and turned it into a novelette. I had no choice; I just can't argue with them. ;-)
> 
> I set Thanksgiving as my deadline to finish this. I hadn't expected it to become so big. In order to meet my deadline -- because I've never, ever missed one in my life -- I've posted the first draft. I'll come back and edit it later.


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